


dream sweet in sea major

by Anonymous



Series: hawai: part II [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Apocalypse, BUT NONE OF THE IMPORTANT ONES DIE, Dusky Writes, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Multiple Pov, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Apocalypse, Soft Apocalypse, Tags May Change, but its all 3rd person, eventually, nobody dies!!, patches has her own tag crab rave, well some background/unnamed characters die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29786886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ranboo blinked in surprise at the snow.The snow that was currently falling from the sky in mid-early May.“Huh,” He said, staring at the clouds. “Weird.”Or:The world falls apart. More specifically, America falls apart, and the survivors are left to pick up the pieces.
Relationships: only friendships!! but they arent here yet
Series: hawai: part II [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189481
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41
Collections: Anonymous





	1. alone (at the edge of the universe, humming a tune)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You Heard it First From Charlie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28895850) by [WreakingHavok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WreakingHavok/pseuds/WreakingHavok). 



> Edit: i forgot to say that this was inspired by 'you heard it first from charlie' by WreakingHavok! its a great story and if you like apocalypse stories you should def go check it out!

The first thing he noticed was the cold.

Obviously, Ranboo wasn’t unused to the cold- he lived in Michigan, for heck’s sake. But still, it was early April, and when he stepped outside that morning, it was colder than he expected.

Still, it was Michigan. So he shrugged it off and pulled on another layer before heading to school.

( _ “Your aunt Pat thinks the world’s ending,” His mother rolls her eyes at dinner. “Says the U.P.’s gonna fall into the Great Lake.” _

_ “That- that’s not happening though, right?” He asks, doubting that his aunt is right but still needing the confirmation. _

_ “Of course not,” His mother waves it off. “Pat’s always thinking the world’s ending. Give her a state and she can predict some awful ending for it with enough time. Look at literally any of her facebook posts and you’ll see her talking about the apocalypse.” _

_ He chuckles nervously. “Yeah, that’s- that’s weird.” He says, and he doesn’t ask if aunt Pat is doing alright or if she’s ever been right about this sort of thing, because his mother would just roll her eyes and tell him everything's fine even if it isn’t. _

_ She side-eyes him anyways, and she takes on a gentler tone. “We’ll be fine,” She says, “I promise.” A bit of amusement bleeds into her voice. “We’re like squirrels. We’ll adapt.” _

_ He laughs, nervousness forgotten, and accepts her promise for what it is. _ )

He blinked in surprise at the snow. 

The snow that was currently falling from the sky in mid-early May.

“Huh,” He said, staring at the clouds. They were dark and all-encompassing, a shroud over the small tourist town he was born in, and it seemed like the snow would be keeping up for a bit. “Weird.”

The wind smacked him in the face then, cold and biting. Shrugging, Ranboo pulled his scarf just a bit higher up, more for the comfort of being covered than for warmth. His breath fogged when he exhaled, and he glanced around one last time before continuing on his way home.

_ (“My cousin in the U.P. says that the ice is breakin’,” Mentions one of his classmates offhandedly. “His roommate thinks their house is gunna get sinkholed. I dunno how to tell ‘im that if he’s livin’ in the U.P. he’s a’ready too far gone.” They chuckled, speaking with an accent thicker than his own and leaning up confidently against the wall of the small underfunded public school cafeteria. _

_ “My uncle’s friend said something like that too,” Recalled another classmate. She shrugged, absent-mindedly braiding her own hair. “I think it’s superstition or somethin’. It’s only the old folks believin’ it, aye?” _

_ “That makes sense,” The first classmate agreed. “All the ol’ people roun’ here are awful super-stitches.” _

_ “Yeah,” Ranboo spoke up, “My aunt is like 50 and she thinks the U.P.’s gonna sink.” _

_ His classmates snickered.  _

_ “Ya,” Said the braid-girl sarcastically, “The U.P., known best for it’s jazz and unstable fault lines.” _

_ The classmate with the sinkhole-roomate-cousin chortled. “Jazz? Where didja even ge’ that?” _

_ “I dunno!” Braid-girl defended herself light-heartedly. “Don’ make me think, wouldja?” _ )

_ Something is happening _ , he thought, watching the squirrels out his window.

There were always squirrels- he and his mother lived in the suburbs, and there were plenty of trees for said squirrels to nest in.

But he’d never seen them this frantic, he realized. They were chattering at each other, running up and down the trees and seeming- worried, almost, if he put a human emotion to them. Their black fur stood out against the pale of the snow, an ever-lasting reminder of their adaptability, according to local legend.

He watched them for a little while longer- they were jumping and leaping in the snow, like squirrels tended to do in unexpected snow, but there was a kind of urgency to their movements that gave him pause.

Eventually, though, he took a deep breath, shrugged it off, and returned to his schoolwork.

Then the ground started shaking beneath him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i chose a random state to put ranboo in and it ended up being michigan so he lives there now


	2. merely dreaming (we were snow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took Sapnap almost a full hour to learn about the earthquakes.
> 
> Or:
> 
> babe wake up its a sapnap pov!

It took Sapnap almost a full hour to learn about the earthquakes.

He had been lying miserably and half-sleeping in bed, practically melting due to the extreme heat- unusually warm even for Texas, considering it was only May, and his AC had suddenly decided to break- when his phone buzzed. He blinked his eyes open and sat up, wincing at the dry air and wiping sweat off of his face.

Turning his phone on, he winced at the brightness of the screen in his dark room. He had long since decided to keep any sunlight out to avoid even more heat, an effort combined with copious amounts of water in an attempt at making the unusual spring weather more bearable.

It was a text- a text, not a discord message, which was strange- from George. Which was also weird, considering it was approaching midnight where George was.

Despite that, Sapnap opened the text, squinting in confusion at what it said.

_ george: hey i heard about the earthquakes and you arent responding to discord _

_ george: please jsut respond so i know your alright _

He considered the text and shot back a response.

_ Sapnap: just woke up _

_ Sapnap: whats happening with earthquakes _

_ Sapnap: ? _

The response was almost immediate.

_ george: thani god _

_ george: its good to know your safe _

_ george: there was a big earthquake right near where america and canada touch _

_ george: and i know your far aoway from tehre _

_ george: but i just hafd to know _

Sapnap reread the texts, concern and doubt growing in his stomach. Licking his lips- which were already dry, he’d only been asleep for a couple hours, what the hell- he stood and walked to his computer, sitting down and turning the screen on.

And, lo and behold, the first thing that popped up when he googled ‘earthquake’ was a news article.

**_Extreme Earthquake Damages American-Canadian border territories, Sinks Parts of Upper Michigan Peninsula_ **

He breathed in sharply.

Scrambling for his phone, he switched to discord and called George. His cursor hovered over the article’s link.

“Hey,” George picks up the phone with a click, worried. “Are you alright?”

Sapnap can’t bring himself to say anything, and his breathing ring out over the line. His chest hurts, his lungs hurt, and oh shit is he having a panic attack?

He can’t bring himself to muffle the sob that chokes its way out of his throat, and before he knows it he’s crying on the phone to one of his best friends.

It’s only later that he could bring himself to read the article.

He felt sick.

( **_Extreme Earthquake Damages American-Canadian border territories, Sinks Parts of Upper Michigan Peninsula_ **

_ Around 4PM CST, on May 13, 2020, an earthquake of 8.5 magnitudes on the Richter scale devastated much of the American-Canadian border. Many states, including Michigan, Ohio, Indiana, Pennsylvania, and New York were heavily effected, despite being far from any known faults large enough to cause said earthquake.  _

_ The earthquake was “[So damaging] it actually [sunk] part of the [Upper Peninsula],” According to reporter and Michiganian resident Tracey Sherburne.  _

_ Several helicopters have been deployed and are reportedly surveying the states to both see if these reports are true and to look for survivors. _

_ The earthquake reportedly had an epicenter somewhere underneath Lake Erie, but it is currently unknown how deep the epicenter was and how many casualties there were. _

_ Especially affected was New York City, which was heavily hit and completely unprepared for such a thing… _ )

Sapnap considered his options.

It was the day after he’d heard the news, and he was considering his options.

George’s voice echoed in his head.

He can’t leave Texas, but maybe he can hole up and wait it out.

( _ “They’re saying that it’s going to get a lot worse,” George says, after Sapnap has calmed down, not a threat but a warning. “Some of them are saying that Texas is going to lose power, the drought’s gonna cause deaths.” _

_ “Already has,” Sapnap mumbles darkly, thinking of the people who were caught without water or shelter. _

_ “Yeah,” George says, voice soft and careful. “And- I don’t think you want to be there when it happens again.” _

_ Sapnap snaps to attention, feeling sharp, and he sits up just a little bit. “What are you saying, George?” _

_ There’s a heavy, brief moment of silence, and then George answers. “Come to London,” He says, just a step above pleading. “Or, even, just get out of America. Please, Sapnap.” _

_ Sapnap thinks about it. _

_ He thinks of meeting up with George, of the two of them being able to speak in-person. He thinks of rainy England and cool fogs. _

_ But- _

_ He also thinks of home. _

_ He thinks of dry, Texan summers in his youth, spent running around with his school friends. He thinks of the bright excitement of seeing a grasshopper in the house and telling his mother that rain was coming, just before she shooed the grasshopper out anyways. He thinks of clear, open skies. _

_ He thinks of home. _

_ “No,” He says. “No, I can’t.” _

_ “Sapnap, please-” _

_ “I’m sorry, George. But I can’t.” _ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on the topic of texas, i'd like to take a minute and say that if you can, you should donate to charities in texas! because irl texas is going through it and could use some help.
> 
> Feeding texas: http://www.feedingtexas.org/  
> Houston foodbank: https://www.houstonfoodbank.org/  
> ending community homelessness coalition (echo): https://www.austinecho.org/  
> food bank of the rio grande valley: https://www.foodbankrgv.com/  
> North texas foodbank: https://ntfb.org/  
> central texas foodbank: https://www.centraltexasfoodbank.org/


	3. a siren sounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was something poetic about what was happening.
> 
> If she were a poet, she might’ve appreciated it- but Puffy wasn’t a poet.
> 
> OR:
> 
> PUFFY MY BELOVED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> puffy my beloved!!!

There was something poetic about what was happening.

If she were a poet, she might’ve appreciated it- but Puffy wasn’t a poet.

Puffy was 22 years old. She stood in the empty, not-quite-silent streets of New York City, and she wasn’t a poet.

There was no beauty in this.

It had been- two days, maybe? Since everything fell apart.

Puffy didn’t remember where she was or what she was doing when it happened, but she remembered-

( _ The ground shakes. She screams. Something made of glass falls and shatters beside her. _ )

Well, she remembered that it happened. Maybe it was best left at that.

All of those apocalypse stories always said something about the end being quiet or loud- but, well.

It wasn’t.

There was no quiet, no all-encompassing silence, and there was no loud screaming.

There was a soft symphony of creaking from broken pipes. There was the constant  _ tat-tat-tat _ of icy, dirty rain and snow hitting cracked asphalt and broken sidewalks. There was the far-off howling of the near-freezing wind, the crunch of her boots on snow, the groaning and shifting as debris settled and collapsed further.

Puffy didn’t know where she got it from- she had it on her  _ before _ , she thought, so maybe she had warning?- but she had a ratty backpack half-full of supplies.

Two changes of clothes. A pocket knife. A short-handled axe. A lighter. Half a pack of gum. A box of pencils and a notebook. An extra pair of socks.

That was it- all of her worldly possessions save for the backpack itself and the clothes on her back.

New York City had collapsed, and Puffy had half a pack of watermelon gum.

God.

She took it upon herself to look for survivors, that first day.

She wasn’t alone- New York was a big place, and there were always people. That much would never change.

She found them, alright- those of them that hadn’t been crushed by the skyscrapers and collapsed concrete were few and far between, but she had to try. 

She had to try. She owed them that much, at least.

The second day was where it got difficult.

Well, it was always difficult, but it got much more difficult on the second day.

The storm hadn’t lightened up- if anything, it was getting worse.

Behind the cover of her scarf, Puffy exhaled through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to pull her jacket closer. Her hood was already pulled up, and the icy snow was  _ trit-trit-trit _ -ing steadily against it, but it had been so long since she’d been properly inside, and she found herself slowing down.

_ No _ , she told herself internally,  _ we have places to be _ . Taking in a breath- and wincing at the dryness of her throat, because she needed to drink something but there wasn’t anything but dirty, ashy snow- she forced herself to walk just a little bit quicker. She squinted her eyes just a little bit against the dusty air and the rain, determined to make it to her destination.

Finally, she saw it- one of the few bus shelters that had survived the earthquakes, where she had taken to setting up shop. Slipping under the cover of the dirty plastic shell, Puffy let out a sigh of relief.

She let herself have a brief moment to get used to the tiny sliver of warmth the shelter had- mostly from not being in the snow- before turning to the map that was still stuck to the side of the shelter.

It was peeling and dusty even before the city fell, but it was a New York map, built stubborn, just like it’s makers- the wind and the rain couldn’t do anything to it, no matter how hard it tried.

It took her a moment in the dim, lightless shelter, but Puffy’s eye caught onto the little red star with a cursory ‘you are here’ next to it.

Crouching down, she removed one of her hands from her glove, gently tracing her dusty fingers over the laminated map. She paused as she noticed something she hadn’t when she first found it- she was only a couple miles Northeast of the Hudson.

The Hudson, a river. A river made of water.

She slipped her glove back on, grinning, and pried the map out of its lamination, tucking it into her backpack.

“Here we  _ go _ ,” She said quietly to herself, eyes glimmering just the tiniest bit.

It was a miracle, frankly, that Puffy hadn’t realized it sooner- she had been disoriented in the wake of the earthquake, granted, but the Hudson river really was only a few hours walk (made much more difficult with the weather and low visibility from the dust) away from the shelter.

Standing on one of it’s banks, she stared, openly and unabashedly, at the remains of the Hudson.

The water itself was a dirty, murky brown, dust and debris floating in it. Part of a broken wooden dock was still suspended above the water for now, and the shore was awash with things carried downstream- piles of dirt, chunks of concrete, what looked like an entire snowbank.

Puffy doubted any human had ever felt as happy to see the Hudson as she did that day.

After boiling some water in a tin can she found and drinking it- it had a weird taste but it was  _ water _ \- Puffy considered her options.

The Hudson fed into multiple smaller streams and rivers in the Southwest.

She could go back to the bus shelter. She could keep coming out here whenever she needed water. She could hope to god that the storm ended and it went back to normal late spring weather.

Or.

Or, she could run. She could follow the smaller rivers and go Southwest. She could hope it was warmer there. She could run, and she could hate herself for being a coward but she could live to hate herself.

(She wasn’t a poet, but she wasn’t an idiot either. It was practically freezing, and it was late spring. Winter would only be worse.)

A gust of wind hit her face.

(She wasn’t a poet or an idiot. She was never a coward, but god, just this once-)

(Just this once, she wanted to run.)

She considered her options.

She left.

(Just this once, she chose the cowards way out, and she’d hate herself for it later when there was something left in her to hate.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shaking a tin cup* comment? commennt?


	4. like the goddess (who promised endless apologies of paradise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been two days.
> 
> Ranboo was lucky.
> 
> OR:
> 
> we are back to ranboo pov!! *gently bonks him with angst*

Two days.

It had been two days since-

Since-

It had been two days.

Ranboo was lucky.

He was born and raised in Michigan. He grew up learning about what to do in the cold.

( _“Cotton kills,” His grandfather said firmly one Christmas. “No grandson of mine will freeze to death because he thought cotton was a good material.”_

_Six year old Ranboo blinked and cocked his head. “I don’t have any other gloves, though,” He pointed out._

_His grandfather made a ‘pshaw’ sound, looking around in the old entryway closet. “I have some around here somewhere,” He mumbled to himself, voice aged and accented. “Here- here we are.”_

_He turned, revealing that he was holding a pair of thick white and blue mittens. “There you go, that’s better. Wool- these mittens’ll get’cha through thick’n thin.”_ )

Ranboo learned how to survive in the cold in Michigan. 

(He lived in a tourist town.)

Ranboo was lucky.

The utilities were shut off soon after the initial earthquake.

Ranboo huffed out a breath and bunched his shoulders tighter, slouching over in an attempt to curl around himself and stay warm.

He might’ve grown up learning about this, but there was very little he could do about being tall and lanky.

There was a _reason_ arctic animals were all small and round. He did not have that luxury.

Luckily enough, though, he _did_ have a duffle bag of survival items, insisted upon by his grandfather- a forester from Canada, who very much so disliked the thought of his grandson freezing to death.

(His grandfather lives so close to the American border he was often mistaken for an American. The earthquake-)

(The earthquake wouldn’t have been kind to him.)

Ranboo shook his head.

(His grandfather is _fine_.)

(Everything is _fine_.)

Everything was deathly still, that first night.

But today-

Squirrels chattered and ran on the trees. The wind smelt like an incoming storm and dark clouds rolled along the horizon.

The world was moving on whether he liked it or not, slowly but surely.

His entire world had come crumbling down around him, and the world was still spinning.

( _“Mother,” Ten-year-old Ranboo says, pressing his face against his mothers palm._

_“Child,” His mother acknowledges him fondly._

_“I’m bored.” He smushes his face into her arm._

_“Hello, Bored, I’m mother.”_

_Ranboo let out a little huff. “That’s not what I meant,” He said._

_“Then what did you mean?” She asks lightheartedly._

_“I’m bored.”_

_She snickers, removing her arm from his face. “Well,” She says, “What do you want me to do about it?”_

_He thinks for a second, then shrugs. “I’unno,” He mumbles, leaning into her side._

_“Want a story?”_

_“Mhm. Story sounds good.” He thinks for a moment._

_“Story about squirrels,” He clarifies._

_She laughs. “Alright, story about squirrels,” She agrees. “Do you know why the squirrels around here are black?”_

_“Why?”_

_“During the industrial revolution- that's the one we talk about, with The Union- the air was filled with smoke ‘nd ash. So much it stained the snow black.”_

_“Tha’s not good,” He mumbles from where he’s squishing himself into her arm, yet again._

_“No,” She agrees. “But that’s how it was. The squirrels, they weren’t evolved for ashy snow. So they kept gettin’ eaten up, ‘til they evolved to be so dark.”_

_“Is that true?” He asks in a mumble, but he falls asleep as she answers it._ )

The first thing Ranboo had done, that first night, once it sunk in that this was real, was find shelter.

Well, it was more ‘the crumbled remains of a building that he could hide in’ than actual shelter, but it was better than nothing.

The second thing he did, remembering his Aunt Pat’s advice, was to brush off the top layer of dirty, dusty snow- stained brown from the earthquake debris- and pull out handfuls of the still-fresh, but cleaner snow underneath.

His grandma had given him, for some past birthday only half-remembered, an ‘end of the world kettle’- in reality it was just a normal kettle that could be flattened for easier carrying- and he boiled the snow in that. He had a box of matches that he lit the fire with, and it managed to stay lit, despite the dampness of most of the branches he used.

But that was the first night.

And here he was on the second day.

He was cold.

He was bone-achingly, skin-paling-ly cold.

And he was so, so alone.

Ranboo didn’t know anything about fault lines.

What he _did_ know was that Southern states were warmer.

What he _did_ know was that Southern states would have people.

And what he _definitely_ knew was that he was so, so cold, and so, so alone.

His entire life was in that town.

It looked so small from a distance.

The few remaining buildings were covered in a layer of snow. The electricity was cut off, and there were no lights. The roads were cracked and jagged, chunks rising up out of the earth or sinking down beneath the ground.

All of his life in one town.

He swallowed the tightness in his throat and turned away.

(The world was moving on.)

(He couldn’t afford to be left behind.)


	5. only she can make it right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was rainy.
> 
> To be fair, it was rainy a lot these days.

It was rainy.

To be fair, it was rainy a lot these days.

There were tropical storms incoming, they were saying on the news. Florida had always been a hot-spot for bad weather, and the end of the world wasn’t making any exceptions.

The rest of the states weren’t doing any better.

He didn’t think so, at least, because Dream lived in Florida, and the flooding had made it hard to get cell service. Wifi had been out for a couple days- but that wasn’t something he wasn’t used to.

But it was going to get worse.

Dream could see the way the wind was blowing.

In Manhunts, he was quick-thinking and clever and traveled lightly. But this wasn’t a Manhunt, and he found himself lingering over his possessions, nostalgic for things that might never return.

Patches’s things, at least, were easy to decide on- there was no way he was leaving her behind.

But after that, his head started to become a scrambled mess, and it was hard to decide.

In the end, he packed in a hazy blur, knowing full well that if he didn’t bring something with, he might never see it again.

He folded everything into a suitcase. It was a gray suitcase, and one of the zippers was eroded and metallic-smelling.

The world was ending, and he had a gray suitcase.

He loaded everything up into his car, with its chipped paint and muddy wheels.

Clothes. Food and water. Cell phone and charger, in case he ever found electricity. Laptop.

(He brought his PC, because if he did then maybe he could pretend it was just a normal move.)

( _ There’s no storm _ , he imagined telling himself,  _ I’m just visiting my parents up North _ .)

(It didn’t work, but he played along anyways.)

He was nearly at the state border when he finally got cell service again.

He parked in an abandoned looking parking lot, locking his doors and turning the car off for the call.

( _ “Hey, I don’t-” He stumbles over his words. “I don’t know how long I’ll have service, but-” _

_ “Dream?” Sapnap sounds worried over the line, and Dream can understand why. “What’s going on?” _

_ “Florida is flooding,” Dream says, rushing all the words out in one quick breath. “Florida is flooding and I’m leaving and-” He pauses, inhaling and trying to slow down. “I. Wanted to tell you. That I’m leaving Florida.” _

_ The ‘in case anything happens’ lingers in the air. _

_ “Oh,” Sapnap says after a moment, like he doesn’t know what else to say. “Where- where are you going?” _

_ “I-” He hadn’t thought of that. He just knows-  _

_ “I just need to get  _ away _ ,” He emphasizes. “I don’t know. I’ll- I’ll call you when I can, alright?” _

_ “What? Wait, Dream, think this through-” _

_ He hangs up. _ )

He sat in silence, for a moment, trying to sort out what just happened.

He was stirred from his silence by Patches letting out a soft meow in her carrier, having been woken by the stillness of the car.

“Yeah,” He said to her, voice shaky, “Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”

He took one last look around- he didn’t know the parking lot he was in, but it was still Florida. It was still home.

He kept driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my last pre-written chapter so it might be a bit longer before the next update because it involves puns and i am god awful at making puns so i am suffering


End file.
